


together, we could be more than we are

by Valgeristik



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, although this time its more like friends to lovers?, i do NOT know what im doing but by god i am doing it, reluctant allies to lovers....again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valgeristik/pseuds/Valgeristik
Summary: Featuring: one daring PR stunt, one sympathetic titan, and one Misraaks having hopes and conflicting emotions (crabs are not thought about).
Relationships: Mithrax/Saint-14 (Destiny)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello here i am back again bcs apparently no one else is doing it smh  
> anyway i wrote one fic from saint's perspective n i wanted to try the other way too and it kind of got away from me a bit so...we will see where we end up! I have a lot of thoughts.  
> I'm marking this as a chaptered fic in hopes i will actually write more tee hee
> 
> also im bad with titles so i just yoinked a line from mithrax's transponder in the game. it sounds too fancy for this fic but it is what it is
> 
> (reading the lore entry 'Misraaks' is highly recommended but i suppose not required)

"And, I mean," the hunter leans forward, shaking his hands for emphasis "Think about what a PR stunt that'd be!!"

His ghost (reluctantly) agrees. 

"To be fair, this is the best idea he's had in weeks."

Misraaks looks to the warlock for her input. She is uncertain, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, no doubt. He is uncertain, himself. He's heard the stories. 

Silence stretches on, interrupted only by the hum of the ship's engines and the ghosts' shells moving. 

Eventually, the warlock speaks up. 

_"It would be, you're right_ ," she signs, but her expression is still unconvinced " _but how would you get that approval_?"

"Easy! Our Mithrax here," the hunter pats the kell's back "he's the embodiment of charm. No chance this will fail. No. Chance."

Misraaks moves his mandibles at that, both unconvinced and embarrassed.

"Is Kell-Breaker we speak of." he gives a meaningful look to his crew "Am Kell. Does not sound… good, for me, if…"

"That is _exactly_ why we won't fail!" the hunter exclaims, lifting his hands up, nearly hitting his own ghost (who expertly dives out of the way) "And anyway, if push comes to shove, we could prooobably take him. Right, Nine? "

The warlock, Nine, shakes her head, trying not to laugh. 

_"I am not fighting Saint-14"_ she pauses, thinks " _not in close combat, at least."_

"Well, he's banned from the crucible, anyway. Why is that, i won-"

"Vorobei-4," Misraaks interrupts "you have plan, yes?"

"Oh yes, for sure, for sure," he looks at his fireteam, making sure he’s got their attention "so, first of all, Nine will talk to him."

The warlock lifts one of her eyebrow plates, unimpressed. 

"Now don't give me that look, come on. He respects you! If he'll listen to anyone, it's you."

She rolls her eyes. Her brother continues:

"Then, when he is sufficiently open to the idea, we can give him that transponder poetry of yours!"

Vorobei looks to Misraaks, open-handed and bright-eyed, waiting for approval. The kell, despite himself, feels self-conscious. Of course, he made that transponder for others to see. Of course, he chose his words carefully, with intent. Of course, that was only expected. He didn’t think of it as _poetry_.

"You think...this will work?" he addresses instead, filing his feelings about this not-poetry away for now.

"Sure! You lay the main points out there pretty clearly. "

" _I think it will help_." Nine says " _It’s one thing for me to talk about it, another thing entirely for him to hear your own thoughts."_

Misraaks thinks that they are right, of course, but there is a part of him that is hesitant. He files that away, too. 

"What...after? "

"You meet in person, of course!"

Logical, of course, Misraaks thinks. He is, of course, terrified at the idea. He adds it to the other filed-away things. Of course. Of course.

He looks to the bright, excited face of the hunter. He nods. It has been settled. 

* * *

It takes a while for the plan to reach Step Three. 

The apprehension he felt at first subsides, a little - from what Nine says, Saint-14 is...not _as_ opposed to the idea as they expected (or, not as eager to headbutt Misraaks to death, at least).  
  


When he hears that the titan requested their meeting _himself_ , a day after receiving the transponder to read trough, however, a whole new set of nerves makes itself at home in his abdomen. 

He thinks about his not-poetry. Tries to remember how it went, and tries to imagine how it was perceived by the Kell-Breaker. He hopes it wasn’t taken by him as Poetry. Misraaks was not a Poet. He was a Vandal, a Captain, a Kell, now. But it was not his _job_ to be a Poet. He worries about it, and then berates himself for worrying about the wrong things, and then reminds himself that it no longer matters, really, what his Job is, because he’s breaking all the Unspoken Rules anyways.

He doesn’t think of his Mother. Or of crabs. He polishes his armor, straightens out his cape, and tries not to think at all.

The meeting is to be held on neutral ground (or, out in the EDZ wilderness). 

He is with his fireteam. They are relaxed, not expecting trouble; their ghosts keep watch of the perimeter.  
It calms his nerves.  
The rest of his crew is not here - they are in orbit, waiting. That was Saint-14’s request. Misraaks understood. 

(His crew was safer there, anyway.)

Almost exactly on time, the shadow of the Grey Pigeon passes over them. The kell watches the ribbons adorning the ship as it lands. A curious choice. Do they not get lost? Damaged? Perhaps he will ask, in time. If that time ever comes. 

He almost forgets to be nervous, preoccupied with the ribbons as he was, until the ship's doors open with a hiss that startles him out of it. 

And then, he sees: Legendary Titan, Hero-Of-Six-Fronts, Kell-Breaker… stepping out onto the EDZ ground. 

(He is, much like his ship, adorned with ribbons.)

Misraaks bows in greeting, moving his blades in an elegant arc, as is custom.

Saint-14 stays still, except for the slight, stiff nod of his head.  
They stand silent, as if unsure what to say.  
And, most ridiculously, despite standing in front of the man who went head to head with the Devil’s Kell, the only thing Misraaks can think of is that Saint-14 looks _smaller_ than he imagined. Intimidating, for sure, but… _smaller._

He chitters, breathing out, and finally speaks. 

"All the wish-well greetings, Saint-14. Am glad you… want to talk? "

He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. These things rarely go as he plans them. 

"Yes, I…" the titan trails off, lifting and then lowering his hand in an aborted gesture. He clears his throat "Hello to you, too. "

Saint-14 comes closer. Misraaks can see, now, that the man reaches just barely above where his secondary arms start. It doesn't make him less nervous. 

"Mithrax, kell of...Light, I was told?" he says the last part with a hint of a laugh. Because of disbelief, or contempt, or something else entirely, the kell doesn't know. 

"Is… yes. House of Light. "

The titan nods to himself. Then, he looks behind Misraaks, to the other two guardians present, and does a little wave in greeting. The kell assumes they wave back.

"Well, then, Mithrax. Kell of Light. I do not trust you...yet." Saint-14 looks back up at him "But your words made me think. "

He extends a hand, then, in the human gesture of “ _hand-shaking_ ”, Misraaks knows that much. 

The kell extends one of his own in return.

It’s the wrong hand.

Flustered, he quickly adjusts, but the damage has been done - he can hear the titan chuckle as they shake. 

His fireteam stays blissfully quiet. 

"Always wanted to ask...hard work, managing all those hands, is it? "

Saint-14's tone doesn't sound like he's necessarily making fun of him, but Misraaks still makes a warbling noise in embarrassment, pulls his head in. 

"We do not… hand-shake. Honest mistake, Kell-Breaker. "

"Saint, stop giving him a hard time!" comes Vorobei's voice from behind them.

"Ah, what's a little joke between…" the titan pauses, thinking "acquaintances, eh, little hunter? "

He looks behind the kell for a moment. Misraaks turns to look, too, and manages to catch the end of what Nine was saying. Something about talking. 

"You're right, of course." Saint-14 says, a little more serious in tone "There was something I wanted to ask, for real now."

The kell cocks his head to the side, waiting for him to continue. 

"I understand the summary of your thinking. From the writing Nine gave me. But… "

The titan sighs. It sounds conflicted, heavy, and Misraaks listens with more attention than he thought possible.

"But why come to _me_ ? I don't exactly have a… _good_ reputation with the fallen."

Misraaks thinks. It is true - he's heard stories of the Kell-Breaker, back when they were fresh, and now that they are not. He thinks of his people, and what they did in the Dark Ages. For survival, or just to make a point. What they do, still, to themselves. To others. He thinks of guardians, and what they do in return. 

He thinks of the day he found his daughter - still soft and translucent from hatching, fragile against the backdrop of corroded metal. A new life among a field of those lost.

He thinks of his Mother, and of crabs, and of poetry. 

"I do not care for what-was." is what he says "It brought us...Here."

He gestures vaguely around them. Hopes his point is clear. 

"Ways have to change. Work _together_. To live. To thrive, in time. A dying people’s hope does not lie in more death." he gestures, then, from himself and towards the titan, as if trying to share what he feels "I come to _you_ , Saint-14, because you are your people’s inspiration. "

The words feel too open as he says them, almost vulnerable. It was one thing to write them and leave them somewhere on a long-abandoned table on Titan, and completely another to speak them out loud, as an explanation, as a request. But they are honest. Chosen carefully, with intent. As is only expected. 

"You are good with words, but that shouldn't have surprised me." the titan says, thoughtful, after a long pause.

(Misraaks doesn't think about what that phrase implies)

"You will… help?" the kell asks instead, hopeful and open, embarrassingly so. 

"I never thought I would say that." Saint-14 laughs, shaking his head "But yes, Mithrax. I am willing to try. "

With joy and relief, Misraaks insists on shaking hands again (he uses at least three of his own this time).

Afterwards, with this official part done, Vorobei-4 insists that they hold a (surprise) picnic. When both kell and kell-breaker try to decline, he argues that the food has already been made and it would be just a _waste_ not to eat it. Nine agrees, by setting up the makeshift table (a cloth on the ground). 

In the end, they have a nice (if somewhat awkward) time. 

And Misraaks finds that the legendary titan is, among other things, incredibly good company. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter wasnt very gay so i made up for that in this one. enjoy

They think a while about how to approach the process. Saint-14 participates in those discussions often - to Misraaks' surprise. 

He expected the titan to be more distant, doubtful of him and his intentions, but the Kell-Breaker greets him like a friend, and every time his heart skips a beat in surprise.

Talking to Saint-14 still makes the kell nervous, but in a different way; in a way he doesn’t mind. He figures it is respect, or gratitude, or something similar.

Either way, those nerves fill his insides with a warm, fluttering sensation. He thinks about it often.

So far, they have discussed many options of how to propose the alliance to the Vanguard and to the City at large. Even with Saint-14’s and the Hero-Of-The-Red-War’s reputations combined, it is hard to overcome decades of war and distrust between their people. 

They figure that they have to start slow, gradual. 

The Farm looks like the best option for that.

And, all things considered, it takes less than they would have expected for the Farm residents to let Misraaks and his crew near. Saint-14 is as beloved within the City walls as he is beyond them, after all.   
It’s not hard to see why - he Cares, and so they care in return. It is difficult not to trust him. 

The House of Light does not take residence on the Farm itself. They are nomadic people now, after all, and their ketch is as good a home as they need. 

They land it nearby, on a clearing, and visit in small groups. Misraaks talks to people, answers questions, slowly earns their trust. 

They help around with repairs and different other tasks, too. Having 4 arms and the ability to jump from up high comes in handy when you have to fix a leaky roof, for example.

Their plan works, and it is easy for Misraaks to believe that everything will work out as he hoped it would. 

His fireteam and Saint-14 still visit regularly to continue their discussions. They made the first step, but there was still work to be done, after all. 

Today, however, it is different. Today, the titan comes alone. 

Misraaks is helping carry some equipment for Tyra when he sees the familiar shape of the Grey Pigeon overhead. He finishes his task and hastily excuses himself, eager to go greet the new arrival. 

(Tyra just laughs and waves him off. Misraaks likes her) 

He makes it to the landing spot just in time.

"Ah, my friend!" Saint-14 exclaims, open-armed, once he steps out of the ship. "It's good to see you well!" 

The nerves explode in the kell's abdomen not unlike a dozen fluttering insects. 

"Greetings, " he manages, waving in response "Did not expect visit today. Something happen?" 

“No, nothing did.” Saint-14 comes closer, pats Misraaks on the back with a laugh “This is a friendly visit, not a business one."

“Ah. Is nice of you” he says, perfectly natural in tone despite the whirlwind of nerves inside.

“So, how are things out here?” the titan asks, casually, walking towards the Farm proper. Misraaks follows suit. “I talk to the people here, of course, but it never occurred to me to ask _you._ ”

“Ah. Is fine. Was helping Tyra when you arrived.” he catches up with the titan, so they walk shoulder-to-shoulder “Think people appreciate help more than words.”

Saint-14 laughs at that, in a way that makes the kell feel like he is basking in sunshine on a lazy day.

”Have you shown them your poetry yet? Bet they would appreciate it just as much. I know I did.”

Despite himself and his previously fuzzy feelings, Misraaks freezes at the mention of his not-poetry. The titan notices, stops walking, turns to him proper. 

“Something wrong?” 

“Is...not Poetry.” he grimaces. Doesn't know how to explain the problem, or if he even wants to, or if the titan would understand. He fidgets, lifts and lowers his arms, searching for words. He gives the explanation he himself got, a long time ago. 

"Is not my place. Not my Job." 

Saint-14 looks at him for a long while. It's impossible to glimpse what he's thinking - the helmet doesn't reveal anything, which works terribly well as a blank canvas for Misraaks' imagination. So they stand there, still, except for the kell's hands fidgeting with the ends of his cape. Finally, though, before he can dig himself too deep, the titan speaks. 

"Shame. I think you're good at it" 

He expects to feel bad, to think of his Mother, of her words, of the crunching sound crabs make when torn apart for dinner. 

But his Mother is long gone, along with her words and expectations, and so her lessons pale before the fluttering and pride he feels at Saint-14's words. 

"Thank you" he says, and means it. 

"Of course," the titan, somehow softer than usual, pats him on the shoulder (or, as far as he can reach it, anyway) "Still feel like showing me around?" 

Misraaks nods and leads the way. 

There's not much to see that Saint-14 hadn't seen before, so it's not long before Misraaks decides to show him around the ketch. 

The titan has been in there before, but briefly - to the meeting room and back. The only guardians that have seen the entirety of it before were his fireteam. He was… excited to change that. There is value, he thinks, in sharing your way of life with those you trust. Those who are important to you. 

The showing goes well. Misraaks introduces the crew members that Saint-14 hasn't met before, and the titan greets everyone like he would any person in the City. The kell is glad, even happy. Not surprised. 

The nursery is the last place they visit. Misraaks was just a bit hesitant about it, before they entered the ketch. But his worries were quickly dissuaded.

At least until they actually get there. 

It is.. chaotic, as they enter. It rarely is otherwise, what with having so many hatchlings cooped up in one place, but there was little to be done about it. He was hesitant to let them out so near to people, where trouble might arise, disrupt the tentative peace they've built.

Among the chaos, there are a few grown-ups trying to control it. And, among them, just the daughter he hoped to see. 

"Ah," he puffs up with pride "my dearest daughter, Phyrsis. She is my joy. Told you of her before. "

Phyrsis rolls her eyes, chastises him in eliksni for doting again. But how can he not? She grew so much, changed so much compared to the scared, suspicious hatchling in a ventilation shaft. He wanted the titan to meet her, because, well… because of a lot of things. 

"Well, nice to finally meet you," the titan offers his hand in a handshake, jovial in tone "Saint-14."

"Reciprocated, " the kell's daughter shakes his hand in response "as father said. My name is Phyrsis" 

"And I see you've already surpassed him. The first time we met, he used the wrong hand for a handshake." 

Phyrsis laughs, absolutely delighted at the information. Misraaks is dismayed. That is something he will never live down, now. 

The kell doesn’t introduce the other two caretakers - they’ve met the titan already, and so a simple greeting is enough. 

As the pleasantries are happening, no one notices the hatchlings grow quiet. There was someone New here, after all, and New needed to be explored.

“Oh!” exclaims Saint-14 as the children, with a unified determination, begin to climb his armor.

Phyrsis laughs again. Misraaks panics. The other two crew members, trying to hold in laughter, leave the scene (it's lunch break, anyway).

“So sorry. They love to climb” the kell explains, all four hands hovering, worried, around the titan.

“Think our guest should babysit, yes?” 

“Kelekh-” Misraaks begins to object, but the sound of Saint-14’s laughter stops him in his tracks. 

“It’s fine, do not worry,” he says, at least three hatchlings poking at his helmet, “I’ve always been good with children.”

There were at least 6 of them now, clinging to the titan, some trying to pry the metal of his armor away (unsuccessfully), some tugging at the ribbons of violet fabric hanging from it. Some, however, decided to climb the kell instead (it was a rare luxury, after all, to get to settle into the furry cape he wears).

“If you do not mind,” the kell’s daughter says, nonchalant, “they do need practice in guardian-speech”

Misraaks starts to suspect she wants out of babysitting duty (which she could just ask him for, he thinks, feeling just a little bit betrayed). But Saint-14 seems delighted at the idea, so he lets it go. 

“Thank you, kelekh.” the kell says, sulking, giving up his planned protests “Nice of you to help.”

“Of course,” she clasps her father’s hand, briefly, and winks “Have to go now, have fun!”

They bid her farewell, Misraaks wondering what’s got her so hurried, and what that last gesture was about. But, he supposed, that was a question for another time.   
  


(At the moment, he had about a dozen hatchlings to deal with)

“They have a lot of energy, don’t they?” the titan notes, tugging one of his ribbons out of the mouth of an overly eager child.

“Yes. Don’t get out much.”

“Why?”

“Did not want to...inconvenience people.” he picks one particularly mouthy hatchling off of the titan and places her in the fur of his cape. She squeals with delight.

“Ah, but children are never an inconvenience,” Saint-14 lifts his open hand to a kid sitting on his shoulder, who grabs it with all four of his little arms “isn’t that right?” 

Something warm and pleasant spreads inside of the kell’s chest at the sight. He finds that he can’t argue.

“Now, kids, who wants to go for a walk, huh?” the titan asks, expecting an uproar, but gets just a few questioning looks. He, in turn, gives a questioning look to Misraaks.

“Ah...they do not know what ‘walk’ is.“ 

Saint-14 looks at him, expectantly, which is apparent even with the helmet hiding his expression. 

The kell sighs in defeat.  
  
Translates the sentence. 

The room descends into chaos once again.

* * *

All in all, the walk goes well. The hatchlings, eager to be out for once, follow them obediently.   
  
Though, most of it is because Saint-14 is teaching them what the things in the forest are called. 

They know, of course, in the eliksni way, what trees are. But the titan is a good teacher, and so they absorb new words eagerly. 

They spend about 3 minutes on each word, jumping around, repeating it in a screaming chorus, encouraged by the titan himself. 

  
(Misraaks finds, with amusement, that there is a tune to each word they learn that way)   
  


And it is then, as he watches Saint-14 teach the hatchlings the names of various EDZ flora, that, _oh_ , it hits him.   
The nerves, the fluttering, the easy way in which his Mother’s words faded before the reassurances. 

_Oh_ , he thinks, _of course_. 

It's been a while since he's been in love. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mithrax goes hogwild with love: the chapter

"Why...ribbons?" The kell asks, standing in the tower hangar, looking up at the Grey Pigeon and then looking back down, at Saint-14.

It has been a month, now, since he's been allowed to stay at the Tower. They've done a lot of work to get here, and they still have a lot of work left to do, but right at that moment all of it was the least of Misraaks' concern. 

They will get there, eventually. He was certain of that. 

What he was not certain of, however, is what to do with the other, more personal situation he found himself in. 

So he stood in the Tower hangar, lovestruck, and asked Saint-14 about the ribbons on his ship. 

"Ah, these? They are my accolades." the titan lifts a hand, gently runs his fingers over a tattered cloth wrapped around his left forearm "People give them to me. As a token of appreciation, or thanks, or as a good luck charm" he seems especially amused (even fond) at the mention of the last reason. “They are an expectation, of a sort. To remind me what a guardian should be. What we fight for.”

Misraaks thinks about how impossibly devoted Saint-14 is. About the care in his voice and in his actions. He thinks that, even with no reminders in the form of royal purple ribbons, the titan would be just as genuine and kind as he is now. Admirable, wonderful, and…looking confused, now, as the silence stretches. 

Right. This is a conversation.

“Ah. Did not know they hold such importance,” his hands fidget. He looks up at the ship again. “Do they not...get lost? Wanted to ask. When we first met, back when.”

“I’m ashamed to admit that a few have been lost.” Saint-14 sighs, almost sadly, ”Most of them because of age. But now I take care to repair or put away the ones that cannot handle travel anymore.”

“Must be a collection” Misraaks croons, amused at the thought. Guardians live long, if they are careful, and there are easily twice as many people in the City as when it was first founded, so there must be a lot more than what he’s seen. Saint-14’s laughter just confirms his assumptions.

“Hah, You should see it! I am running out of room!” His hands go back to the ribbon on his arm, almost absent-mindedly “Wouldn’t trade it for anything, though. As overwhelming as it may be.”

Misraaks understood. 

His duties could get overwhelming, too, sometimes. But he remembered what it was for, by looking at his daughter, his crew, his fireteam. By looking at the people of the City, now. By looking at the titan in front of him. 

He wouldn’t trade it for anything, either.

* * *

Sometimes, they go out to the City together, him and Saint-14. 

It is not for business reasons. It is for personal ones. 

Some days they walk the quiet streets and parks near the tower, talking quietly, or not at all. Pointing things out, enjoying the view.

The City is as foreign for Misraaks as it seems to be for the titan - the last time he's seen it was decades ago, after all, and back then it was much less grandiose. 

He says so himself one evening, as they sit on a bench and feed the local birds.

"Don't get me wrong, though" Saint-14 laughs, humorlessly "I'm proud of the progress. I'm happy that the people here live peacefully."

He trails off, throwing more birdfeed on the ground. Misraaks waits, patient. Worried.

"It's just sometimes… It doesn't feel  _ real _ . When it's quiet like this." 

The kell chitters sympathetically, reaches out his hand to comfort the titan, retracts it again. Opens and closes his mouth, unable to find the right words. Saint-14 doesn't look up. 

"I guess it's just...leftover. From the Forest.” he laughs again, in a way that the kell doesn’t like at all, “Keep expecting the simulation to end." 

Misraaks finally reaches out, pats him on the forearm, rests his hand there. Wishes he could do more than just that, but the titan doesn't seem to mind the simple gesture. He puts his hand over the kell's, gently, and lingers there for just a moment. 

"We can… go back to Tower? More noise there." 

"No, no," Saint-14 lets go of his hand. Misraaks misses it immediately, but the jovial tone returns to his friend's voice, and that is enough for him. "Thank you. It's not so bad when I have company" 

"Then, am happy to help." 

He tries to talk more on their walks after that. 

* * *

Other days, they walk the busy streets and marketplaces. 

Saint-14 is like a magnet, attracting all sorts of people, smiling and laughing, singing, telling him about their day.

Misraaks spends these days mostly quiet, mostly watching, mostly basking in the warmth of the atmosphere around the titan. 

He never expected it to be so welcoming. Not for himself. 

He likes these days. It is easy to forget about the pressing matters of everyday life, about what goes on beyond the walls of the City. It is easy to laugh, and enjoy himself, and to allow himself the indulgence of really feeling like he is in love.

And, oh, he loves Saint-14 in a way that makes his heart both ache and revel in it, that makes him remind himself to breathe as he watches the titan tell jokes, or sing, or hoist children up onto his shoulders, or anything else, everything else.

He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this, and so he doesn’t know what to do with it, but, on these days, he doesn’t mind. 

On these days, he’s mostly quiet, mostly watching, mostly basking in the warmth of the atmosphere around them.

In the evenings, when he is alone, still staticky with feelings, he thinks. Describes the day for himself again, paints it in words that he picks carefully, with intent. Lets himself feel, unrestricted by expectations, by his Mother’s echoing words, by the thoughts of crabs, by his own self-imposed boundaries, as if he is a child again, experiencing things for the first time.

It’s wonderful, it’s terrifying, it’s something he would do over and over again.

* * *

Someday, he supposes, he has to tell him. 

He  _ wants  _ to tell him, wants to be honest, wants many things besides that.

But he can’t quite find the words, or the time, or the courage, or…

“What do you think?”

He is startled out of his thoughts by the question. Saint-14 looks at him expectantly, holding up a piece of colorful soap. 

They are in a marketplace, picking out gifts for Vorobei-4's birthday. 

(Guardians don't know their birth date, of course, but "resurrection day" doesn't have the same ring to it. Or so he was told.) 

It is a sunny day. The titan, as he very rarely does, isn't wearing his armor. This isn't the first time Misraaks got distracted. 

"Do...exo use soap?" he asks the first thing that comes to mind and immediately wishes he said something else. Something smarter, perhaps. 

"Well, not very often, no." 

Saint-14 goes to put the soap back. Misraaks holds out his hand before he can do so, prompting his friend to give it to him instead. 

The kell inspects it. 

"Is pretty. He would like it" 

"You think?" 

"He likes colorful things, yes." he hands the soap back to Saint-14, who looks at it thoughtfully. 

"That's why I picked it up. Though now I think it wouldn't be much of a present, won't get much use." 

"Pity to use such pretty soap, anyway." 

"Hah, isn't that always the case." the titan finally puts the potential present back, nods to the merchant, moves on. Misraaks follows. 

They spend another hour or two looking, not always at things that they need, until eventually landing on presents they both are happy with. 

(Saint-14 does come back for the soap, after all)

It is a good day, Misraaks thinks. It is one of those days that he will remember.

Later, once they're off the busy streets, the titan stops him. 

"I saw this," he clears his throat, almost nervously, rooting around in his bag, "and thought of you. Got it before I could think twice about it, hah!" 

He pulls out a box, intricately carved with a pattern of birds flying in front of the sun. The lid is transparent. There is a pen inside, designed in the same fashion, with a few different attachments and a bottle of ink.

The kell freezes. 

"Don’t know, admittedly, if you would even use it, but..." Saint-14 says, adds something else, but Misraaks isn't listening. He's too busy. The sun, in it's setting, illuminates the titan's face in warm, lovely colors, and he's too focused committing it to memory. 

It's beautiful.  _ He's _ beautiful. Misraaks' heart feels like it is about to burst. The gift, the  _ gesture, _ means a lot, even if the titan doesn’t realize how much.

"Of course, you don't have to take it if you don't w-" 

"No!" the kell interrupts, louder than he intended. He ducks his head in embarrassment, adjusts the volume, "No, no, is very nice. Thank you." 

He takes the present out of Saint-14's hands. Their fingers brush. If he didn't know better, he would say that they were sharing a moment. 

"Well, then!" the titan clears his throat again, looks away from him, "I'm glad you like it." 

Misraaks thinks that "like" is putting it very mildly, but he doesn't say that out loud. 

"Thank you, " he says again, instead, putting a lot more thought into it that those two words can carry. 

"You're always welcome, my friend, " Saint-14 looks back at him with an expression that, if the kell didn't know better, he could call  _ fond _ . 

He decides not to know better. He thinks of telling him, right there, in the middle of the street, but…

“Do you want to grab some food, before we head back?” the titan asks, continuing to walk. 

The moment passes. 

“Sure,” he says, disappointed, but mostly relieved. 

The moment doesn’t come back. Other than that, the evening is great. 

* * *

Later that week, Misraaks is restless. He can't stop thinking. The calligraphy set sits, unopened, on his desk, both a reminder of good things and the fact that he is a coward. Not on the battlefield, not as a fighter, but in a different way. In a way that, right now, mattered more.

He paces in his room, the fluttering inside turning from wonderful to terrible to wonderful again, until he finally reaches a decision. 

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell Saint-14 how he felt, not face-to-face, not with his own mouth.

But he could write it. In all the carefully chosen words, with all the intent in the world, he could write it. 

For a long time, he lived by the rule of "it's not poetry if you don't write it down". Had more reasons to maintain it that not, never felt the need to break it, was afraid to. 

But, he supposes, all things change, for better or for worse.

It takes a bit of time to start, apprehension unwilling to part with him. Anxiety about things old and new is hard to trample. 

But, eventually, he sits, and he writes, and, if he wasn’t so focused on the process, he would be proud that there are no crabs on his mind.

Instead, he thinks of Saint-14. Of all the things he kept himself from saying until now, all that the titan means to him, all his hopes, his thoughts, his feelings.

He finishes, rereads it at least ten times, and doesn’t touch it again for two weeks.

(But he keeps thinking about it. He didn’t write it for nothing, after all.)

On the third week, spurred into action by either newfound courage or desperation, he fishes it back out of the desk drawer.

He doesn’t read it, doesn’t want to risk getting cold feet again. Instead, he wraps his words, his  _ poetry _ , in fancy paper he picked out earlier. Folds it carefully, wraps a string of fabric around it. 

An accolade, if Saint-14 chooses to take it. 

Selfishly, he wanted it to be red. He doesn't want to make it a reminder of duty. He doesn’t want it to be taken as a given. The violet strips of fabric carry the respect and adoration of the people that gave them, and he has plenty of that for Saint-14, too, but he wants  _ his  _ gift to stand out, to mark the depth of the gesture. 

It's selfish, it's foolish, this whole thing is, but there's only so much you can keep to yourself. Only so long you can keep being a coward.

It's not hard to find Saint-14. He spends most of his time in the hangar, near his Grey Pigeon, giving advice or bounties to guardians.

"Ah, my friend! It's great to see you!" the titan exclaims as he sees him, arms open, welcoming as always.

"Ah, hello," the kell fidgets, jumps right into it, not giving himself room to back out. "While ago… you gave me a gift.” 

“Yes, I remember that,” Saint-14 nods, slowly, a bit confused. 

“Did not give you gift back. But. Here,” he presents the envelope to the titan, hands surprisingly steady, “Making up for it. This is for you.”

Saint-14 is silent as he takes it, gently, out of the kell’s arms. Misraaks feels triumphant, and scared, and like he really,  _ really  _ wants to run away. 

“Thank you, Mithrax. I didn’t expect anything in return, honestly, so this is a nice surprise,” he goes to open the gift. Misraaks panics, puts his hand over the titan’s on impulse, retracts it again as if burned.

“Open it...later? Alone?”  _ now _ his hands are shaking. 

Saint-14 looks at him, thoughtfully, but leaves the envelope unopened. 

“Alright,” he says, “Are you okay?”   
  
“Yes! Am great! And busy, very busy, have to go now.” Misraaks bows, just a little, which he hadn’t done in months when talking to the titan, “Great seeing you. Really have to go now.”

“Ah...I won’t hold you, then. Thank you again?”

“Of course. Hope you...like it?”

(He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question)

He bows, again, which seems to confuse Saint-14 even more, but Misraaks is gone before he can ask additional questions.

He avoids the titan for a week.

* * *

“ _ There _ you are!” 

Misraaks is startled. He drops the piece of armor he was polishing. 

In front of him, arms crossed, stands Saint-14. The last person he expected to see aboard his ketch. 

“How...”

“Nine told me where you are. Phyrsis let me in.”

The kell squints, feeling betrayed. Too surprised to let anxiety kick in just yet.

“I think we need to talk.” Saint-14 comes closer, sits down in front of him, arms still crossed.    
There is a red strip of fabric wrapped around his arm, just below the right shoulder. His heart flutters. 

Anxiety finally kicks in. 

“Am...sorry, Saint-14,” Misraaks says, looking at the floor, “Couldn’t...Was afraid to...”

“Hold on,” the titan lifts his hand, stopping him, “At this point, just ‘Saint’ is fine, don’t you think?”

The kell looks up. Opens and closes his mouth in surprise. Silence stretches as he tries and fails to find something to say. Saint sighs, takes his helmet off, looks at him like you would at a puppy asking for food it can’t eat - kind, loving, and just a little bit frustrated.

“Can’t say I enjoyed not being able to find you after reading your letter,” he begins, setting the helmet aside, “I won’t hold it against you, I understand, but...”   
  
He trails off, waving his hand vaguely. He sounds tired, and Misraaks, against his better judgment, leans forward to take one of Saint’s arms into his own. The titan grips his hand in return.

“Am sorry, Saint. For my cowardice. Did not want to distress you, but was afraid to stay. Was wrong of me to run.”

“Again, no need to apologize,” he laughs fondly, cups the kell’s hand with his own two, “I just hoped to have this talk sooner. But this works, too.”

They sit in silence for just a few moments, too many things unsaid between them to even know which one to start with. Misraaks tries to calm himself and his wildly beating heart but fails miserably. He wants to say something smart, or funny, something to diffuse the tension in the air, but all that comes out is:   
  
“I love you.”

It works, either way. Saint laughs, delighted, holds his hand tighter. 

“I guessed as much! And you didn’t even wait for me to say I love you back! Delayed it by a whole week!!”

Upon finally hearing this verbal confession, all the anxiety that Misraaks felt fades before the sudden, overwhelming joy. He takes his hand back, only to rush forward moments later to hug the titan with all four. Saint hugs back, tightly, and they stay like that, both trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I overturned the whole Tower looking for you,” the titan says into the crook of the kell’s neck once he calms down.

Misraaks prepares to launch into another apology, but Saint interrupts him. 

“Don’t apologize. None of that. I’m just trying to tell you...hold on,” he wiggles out of the embrace just enough to look the kell in the eyes, “I’m just trying to tell you how much you mean to me. I’m not as good with words as you are, so it came out wrong, but...I love you. I am glad to have you.”

The kell tries to answer, but he is too choked up, so all that comes out is an uncertain croak. 

“Well said,” Saint laughs, gently headbutting him below the chin. “Could listen to you talk for hours.”

Misraaks, embarrassed, tucks his head into the titan’s shoulder.

“You are being mean.”

“I guess that makes us even, huh?” Saint pats his back comfortingly, shifting a bit to hug him easier “So no more feeling guilty.”

Misraaks chitters in agreement, too content to object. The titan has a gift for making people feel at ease, or maybe that’s just what being in love does to him, personally, but whichever it is, it works. 

This whole thing, this whole situation, it works. It is the last thing the kell expected when he first met Saint, but he is glad to have it.

* * *

“Hey, Nine,” Vorobei-4 motions for his sister to look at the datapad he’s holding. She obliges, takes it out of his hands. 

On the screen is a picture, showing Saint-14 waving at the camera. Behind him, a bit blurry but still visible, is Misraaks, sipping on a colorful drink with a little umbrella in it. 

“ _ I see the vacation is going well for them, _ ” the warlock says after giving the datapad back.

“Honestly! Don’t know where they got drinks like this on Mercury, though.”

“ _ Some people prepare for things in advance, V. _ ”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me about it.” Vorobei puts the datapad away, “I’m happy for them. Another matchmaking success.”

His sister snorts, pats him on the head, but doesn’t object. 

A planet away, fighting off the heat with fruity drinks, Misraaks and Saint-14 prepare the Lighthouse for the upcoming activity together. 

It is not a tropical retreat, exactly, but they do not mind. They have each other, and a little fridge, and an intertwined future, and that is more than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! thanks for reading!!
> 
> i had no plan for how this will go when i went in, but at least it is finished


End file.
